


leave it as you remember it

by BEETLEJFU



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adrian Mellon Lives, Canon Gay Relationship, Drugs, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gay Rights, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon Fix-It, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Burn, Stanley Uris Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BEETLEJFU/pseuds/BEETLEJFU
Summary: A club of one man is not so much a club, more an attempt to not go insane. An attempt to keep a sense of normalcy in the least normal town he’s ever had the displeasure of living in. Derry was a stain. The best pieces of it scattered across the united states. Long gone, but their shadows still remained.





	1. 1

Mike Hanlon wasn't one for ghost stories, but he cannot deny that what happened 27 years ago haunts him today. It’s like a burning in the back of his mind, pressed between his skull and his brain. The town had grown significantly in these 30 years, something Mike was jealous of. Something he was not capable of doing. Derry was like a boa constrictor around him, restricting his growth, forever stunted.  
Three words were branded into him. Three words he knew would always fundamentally define him. The Losers Club. But a club of one man is not so much a club, more an attempt to not go insane. An attempt to keep a sense of normalcy in the least normal town he’s ever had the displeasure of living in. Derry was a stain. The best pieces of it scattered across the united states. Long gone, but their shadows still remained. Mike scolded himself, He knew to show signs of weakness is how It got you. How everything that can hurt you got you.  
That's why when he called Stan Uris, he didn't let the fear seep through the conversation. Keeping it stoic and curt.  
A simple “It’s Back” was all he could manage, the fear pressing against his skull further and further. The boa was wrapping itself tighter with every call he made. He felt the worst while calling Stanley Uris.  
Something in the way Stanley's voice floated away felt wrong, it made his blood run cold.  
“Stan- It’s going to be ok. You know that right?” Mike said, letting himself show emotion for the first time in years. “We’ll protect you. We’re your friends.”  
Mike felt it, everyone was coming. If it were in any other circumstances, he’d be ecstatic. He’d clean up his dinky little studio above the Derry library and open the blinds, allowing the light to come in for once.  
But these were not different circumstances. The light would not come in, and Mike knew that.


	2. 2

Eddie knew that today felt wrong. It was too warm for September- almost hot, Especially for New York. The breeze seemed to get caught in the leaves and stay there like the wind was afraid to touch the ground as if it was heinous. His aspirator didn't seem to work today and his heartbeat was racing at an abnormal pace. Was he having a heart attack? He didn't know, but he did jump out of his skin when a number from Maine called him, filling his office with the shrill sound of his ringtone.

“He...hello? Eddie Kaspbrack speaking, how may I help you?” he spoke. Trying to keep from wheezing, a fear rising in the back of his throat. No, it couldn't be fear. His wife's words echoed inside his skull, “_Grown Men don't get scared, Eddie._”

Eddie almost hung up, he almost brushed it off as a spam call. _Almost._

Until he heard a comforting and clear voice coming through the other line. “Eddie, its Mike…. You need to come back to Derry-it’s happening again- it's back.” Eddie’s heart pounded inside his chest, threatening to burst from its place protected behind his ribs. He felt a white-hot sensation on the palm of his hand, and for the first time in years noticed the scar that ran across his palm.

“It….” Eddie trailed off. “I’ll be there.” Eddie was a cautious man, and he had been a cautious child, except for when Richie pushed him off his bike- causing him to break his arm. He had always had a good relationship with his mom, as a young man should, he thought, and always listened well to her advice. “_Danger is everywhere, eddiebear._” he remembers her saying.

Sonia Kasprak had never wanted children, but as far as Eddie knew, she was the best mother a boy could ask for- and was worth the mean names he was called through school. He was always a mommy's’ boy, even before his dad passed away, rest his soul, but after his dad passed, he knew he had to be there for his mother. And he was. Sonia’s parenting style wasn’t perfect, and Eddie knew this- at some point, he figured it out, maybe after leaving Derry, but she was always just trying to protect him. Up until five years ago, that is, when she too joined Eddie's father in heaven. He wasn't devout, but every time he thought of his mother rotting under the ground inside a box, he felt sick, so he decided she was with god.

Eddie himself wasn't scared of dying either, just what comes before. The sickness. The treatments. The loss of hair, teeth, nails, then finally yourself. That's why, now, standing inside of his immaculately clean bathroom in his home in New York, he contemplated what vitamins, supplements, and meds to take, he swept his full medicine cabinet inside a duffle bag, Taking his Wife Myra’s Xanax with him as a last-ditch effort to calm himself.

“Just in case,” he told himself. “Never hurts to be healthy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Beverly Marsh knew survival. She knew how to live off bare threads and was used to it. She was even good at it.

How to smile at a guy to bum a cigarette from him, maybe even give her other things. Hotel room for the night, a warm meal. Nothing was for free. She knew this, but she wasn't one to let the game play her. She gave them what they wanted too. It was an exchange. 

That's why when Tom wouldn't sign the annulment papers, she forged them. She was her father’s daughter ( _ never _ his little girl.) after all. She was smarter than any report card or test reflected (not that her dad cared how she did academically, anyway.) Bev Marsh was a woman who could live off the land. She knew one thing only since her mother died when she was young; You have to fend for yourself in this world. And she liked it that way. If she was alone, she could control how and why and when she got hurt.  _ Pick Your Poison,  _ she told herself. Her mantra. 

In her 41 years of life, Bev knew only 6 people to love her, but they’re hard to remember. Her therapist told her it was from PTSD, but who can trust shrinks anyway. That's why when the money ran out, or when Tom found out (She couldn't remember it clearly enough, maybe it was both. Or neither.) she stopped going. 

The Word Success was scary for Beverly. In theory, she was. But deep down, laying next to tom at night, she knew she failed. 

“Never marry your father, Bevvie.” Her mom once told her. Beverley didn't understand what that meant at the time, but 30 some years later, those words rip Bev (Never Bevvie) Marsh to her core. 

She didn't remember much about when or where she grew up, but she knew it happened. Of course, it did. She remembers how cold the Maine winters were. She remembers her first real kiss with a real boy. She sees snapshots of a postcard. Maybe a poem. She wants to remember the good, but there's a darkness that seeps inside the good, infecting it whenever she tries to. She doesn't let anything hurt anymore. Weakness is letting go and letting go is giving up, and 30 odd years ago she promised her mother she would never give up. 

“ _ Don't be weak like me, my love. Keep going.  _ “ Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. 

Her phone rang loud and clear in her quiet hotel room. Piercing her thoughts. 

_ For the best, _ she thought to herself, picking up the phone. A Maine number appeared on the caller id. 

“Bev marsh speaking, how may I help you?” She spoke, lighting a cigarette. 

“Beverly, hi. It’s Mike Hanlon from Derry. It’s back.” a man spoke on the phone, his voice was deep and sounded like it had something hidden inside. 

“I…. I'm sorry?” Beverly said, confusion weaving itself in her voice. 

“It. Beverly. It’s back. Bill, Eddie, Richie- they're all coming too. It's a pact. You need to come back to Derry.” The man spoke, desperation coming through his voice. 

“Bill….” Beverly spoke, staring at her right palm that had started aching. There was a faded scar there, white from age, but she could never remember why it was there. 

“Derry…” she said turning it over in her mind over and over again “I’ll be there soon.” 

One thing, if anything, Bev marsh was good at, was going. Running. She had all her things squared away and packed within the hour, and by 10 pm that night she was checked out of her hotel room an en route to the Syracuse airport. 

A looming evil followed Bev marsh that night, but as far as she could tell, she had become accustomed to evil and knew it well. She knew how to use it and how to take it. Bev marsh, although she didn't have many at this age, was always a ride or die for her friends, and that hadn’t changed. Her friends needed her, so she would go to the ends of the earth for them. What could she lose? The way she saw it, Bev marsh had everything to gain. 


	4. Chapter 4

Richie Tozier talked a lot. Anyone who knew Richie knew that, but on a cold September, when his phone rang out, the caller ID being from Maine, he was truly out of words to say. A thick fear took hold of him, twisting his stomach into a frenzy, the way it happens when you start the first descent on a roller coaster, or you hit turbulence on a plane. 

“Richie?” The man on the other side spoke. “It’s Mike Hanlon. IT’s back. You have to come back to Derry.” 

“Fuck.” was the only thing Richie Trashmouth could conjure. The fear inside him pitched itself forward, then up, bringing itself to his esophagus, then his mouth spilling out of him as fast as it could manage. 

When he was done vomiting, he spoke again, frantically, “Fuck. ok. I’ll be there-” he said, hanging the phone up. 

Richie was never organized. He liked chaos, it calmed him. 

_ If i'm fucked up, everything around me should be too. _ He thought, forming his own mantra. He threw what clean clothes he could find in his sparse wardrobe and headed out the door, not bothering to lock his door. 

_ There are scarier things in this world than a burglar.  _ He thought

Like Bev, Richie was on a plane within the same hour that the call from Mike came. 


	5. Chapter 5

Soft music played throughout the Uris house one calm September day. Patricia, his wife, had gotten the day off to spend with him, so that's what they were doing. It was their anniversary after all. Patricia was a lawyer and a fierce one at that. That's why Stan loved her. She was able to be critical and decisive, she was a leader, something stan had always admired. 

The Uris’ were busy people and that's how they liked it. Why bore yourself with the past when the present is now and demands attention? 

“Stan!” His wife said suddenly, jumping up. “I got you something!” 

Patricia jumped up, running up the stairs and appearing a few moments later. 

She smiled expectantly, holding the perfectly wrapped gift out to stan, who smiled, taking it in his own hands. 

He unwrapped the gift, smiling at the sight. 

“I-” stan started

“I know we said we weren't doing gifts this year but we were in that little shop in savannah last month and I just had to get it for you ” Pat spoke.

Stan smiled down at it, it was a beautiful Bird puzzle, 500 pieces. “Pat, you didn't have to do this” 

She beamed at him, “Yes I did! 10 years is a long time to put up with me.” she said smiling. 

“I also know we said no gifts but…,” Stan said, pulling a small gift box from behind his back. 

Patricia smiled widely as she opened it. It was a delicate gold necklace, the pendant being a bird flying with an engraving on the back.

“_ S+P, 10 _.” it read in delicate cursive.

He looked up at his wife as she beamed. “Stan…” She said as though she were going to cry, slipping the long chain over her head. 

“I’m going to finish up dinner, ok?” She smiled kissing him before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Almost on queue, stan’s phone rang, the Maine ID caller shocked him, making him feel nauseous for no apparent reason. 

“Stan Uris speaking, how may I-” He began before a familiar voice cut his words off. 

“Stan it’s Mike. It’s back, we made a pact 27 years go, and it’s time to make good on that.” Mike spoke. 

An undeniable and dark fear filled Stan Uris’ chest as he listened to Mike speak. 

“O-okay.” Stan tried to speak, but his voice felt small, his head foggy. 

“Stan- It’s going to be ok. You know that right?” Mike spoke, a calmness in his voice “We’ll protect you. We’re your friends.” 

Stan felt the words sink in. They were true, he felt better, he felt an almost supernatural calm fill him as he agreed to come back. 

“Goodbye stan, I'll see you soon,” Mike said, he sounded like he had let out a breath he was holding in for 27 years. 

“See you soon,” Stan spoke Curtly. 

“Who was that?” Patricia said entering the room once more. “Hey, hey are you ok?” 

“It was just… an old friend, I need to go back to Maine. Tonight.” Stan said, fear obvious in his voice. 

“Is something wrong-” Patricia started. 

“I can't tell you right now,” stan said, gathering things he needed to pack. “I’ll call you on the plane.” He said, waving his phone. 

“Be safe, Stan.” His wife said, her words dripping with as much love and sugar as her wedding vows were. 

“I Will be, I love you.” He said, kissing his wife before heading out. 


	6. Chapter 6

Bill Denbourogh thought he coped well with how his brother died. It was just an accident. A hit and run. He had long forgiven the people (not monsters) who killed Georgie Denburough. He lived every day since then for his baby brother. He wrote his memory into all of his books, with the very first book signed: ‘ _ For George Denbourogh, the best baby brother I could ask for. 1979-1988 _ ’. He talked with a lot of councilors and therapists for years after he moved away from Derry to Bangor about how angry he was about losing his brother, but he was able to set that aside and live his life not just for him, but for his brother too. 

Bill Denbourough  _ thought _ he coped with his brothers' death well until a call from a number he didn't recognize popped up on his phone. Any other day, he would've been able to brush this off. Any other day, he would've been busy with work right now, any other day his wife would be home by now and everything would be ok and normal. 

His hands trembled, a dread he hadn't felt in so long covered his body like a second skin. A dread he felt at Georgies’ funeral, at leaving Derry, and there must’ve been many other times, but they escaped him now. 

He pressed the  _ Answer call _ button, his hands calming slightly “Hello? Who is this-” 

“Bill Denbourogh? Its Mike Hanlon. It’s back, Bill. You need to come home.”

“Home… Derry….” Bill said, barley speaking. 

“Yes. I’ve called the others, they’re coming.” Mike spoke unwaveringly. 

“I’ll be there,” Bill said, unknown bravery creeping along his spine.

“See you soon,” Mike suggested. 

“See you soon,” Bill repeated. 

Bill leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and his cheeks in his palms, and for the first time in a long time, allowed himself to openly sob. He doesn't remember when or why, but those sobs turned into screams. First of fear, then of anger, and then he screamed to release something, to feel his throat go raw and his head pound from the pressure. 

An hour and a half after Mike Hanlons’ phone call, Bill stood up, walked to his bathroom, opened his medicine cabinet and took an Advil to calm his headache. In another, he had called his wife to update her, packed his bags, and gotten a Bus from Bangor to Derry. 


	7. Chapter 7

Ben Hanscom had had a  _ very  _ busy day. Scrap that, since highschool, Ben had had a busy life. He was no longer a pudgy kid who only had Books for friends, he had started to take better care of himself, and felt it too. He owned a business and kept it running himself. 

Everyone who knew Ben Hanscom knew he was smart. He was the whole backbone of his company. He knew about himself as a child- pudgy, lonely and read a lot, and he knew of his parents, and he remembered he lived on 2776 something lane in Derry, Maine, but as for specifics, Ben didn't bother. Why would he? The past has gone, the present is sitting in front of him now. 

And right now, he was on a call with his business HQ in New York City, arguing about why they had to cut corners this way, as to not cause the business any damage. 

Ben wasn’t one to get angry easily, he wasn't even one to be upset at all, but today was different. 

“ _ I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, _ ” he lied to himself. 

This feeling was so much deeper than Waking up on the wrong side of the bed, it was deeper, he just couldn't place it. 

That is until a Maine number popped up on his phone. He knew instantly that it wasn't good. It was evil. 

“Hey, I'm sorry… something just came up- I need to go now, I'll discuss uh- further action on Wednesday when im there with you guys. Bye.” Ben said, ending the call from his laptop. 

“....Ben Hanscom speaking…” Ben began, a tremble appearing in his voice that hadn’t been there since at least middle school. 

“Ben. Its Mike Hanlon. It's back. It's awake.” Mike choked

Ben’s mind moved at 100 miles or more at this moment. “The others- are they ok?” 

“Yes Ben, they’re all coming.” Mike reassured “Please come too. We need you.”

Ben stood up quickly, “I'm coming. I'll be there.”

Ben, just like all the rest of his friends, made his way to derry, terrified, excited and unprepared all at once. 

His  _ friends _ .


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh Oh

It was September 2017, and Henry Bowers had almost never felt so good. He smiled to himself, allowing himself to feel good. 

Ever since his dear old dad  _ passed _ , henry seemed to have better and better days. In the last 27 years, henry liked to think he did well for himself. He was no Richie Tozier, comedian extraordinaire, sure, but he wasn't Gretta Keene either. Gretta, who, in middle school was one of the most feared forces in Derry, had somewhat become a town Flop. Henry, on the other hand, had opened his own auto shop with Vic Criss. Everyone in Derry came to their shop, otherwise, it was an hour or more drive to Bangor. 

But today, Henry wasn't feeling good because of his dad, but because of his Friend From Below, as he fondly called it. It was finally awakening after 27 long, arduous years of sleep, and henry was getting bored. 

Henry had always liked Derry. It suits him. It was where he wanted to be. He and Derry, in his eyes, were almost one and the same. 

“Morning chief,” One of Henry’s employees greeted. 

“Morning” Henry responded. Henry hated formalities, but in a town like Derry, they're a necessary evil, a means to an end. 

Henry first felt it like a breeze. The coldest, most satisfying Breeze he’d ever felt. He only felt more satisfied, more prepared, when he heard news of Mike Hanlon calling his friends back home. He couldn't help but smile today. The game was finally unpaused, and he wanted to be the first to play. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home At Last.

Mike was the first to arrive at the restaurant that evening. He felt a lightness he hadn’t felt probably ever. His friends were coming. They were going to save the world. Or at least Derry. Or maybe just themselves. Mike knew that even just the seven of them would be ok for him. 

Bill arrived shortly after, his smile lighting the room. 

“There's our dependable leader!” Mike cheered, standing to hug Bill. 

Bill scoffed, “I’m the leader? I think the baton had been handed to you, Mikey. You brought us all together again.” Bill said, ignoring what  _ really  _ brought them together. 

Mike laughed, handing Bill a drink. 

Bev Marsh was the next to arrive, and she looked as beautiful as ever. Her hair was still short but more feminine and graceful than the choppy cut she dawned as a teen, her face, which had been sweet and round, became more angular and elven, and her hazel eyes seemed to light up brighter than a million Christmas lights when she saw Bill and Mike. 

“Bev!” Bill spoke up, standing from his seat ” Wow... You look amazing.” 

“Same to you Denbourough, and Hanlon you're not bad yourself. Who Knew, the losers would be hot someday.” She beamed radiantly taking her seat next to Mike. 

Stan sheepishly poked his head in the doorway of the private room Mike had reserved for the first meeting of the Losers’ Club in 20 years, smiling as he began to recognize each Loser. 

“Stan the man,” Bev said cooly as she handed him a shot, smiling warmly. “Georgia has treated you well.”

“You're not too bad yourself Mrs.marsh, New York needed a few more stars,” Stan said, beaming now. 

When Ben arrived much later than the previous Losers had, the room went silent, each Losers’ eyes as large as saucers. 

“Ben?!” Bill exclaimed, “Holy shi-shit, dude!” 

Ben Beamed, taking the losers in a group hug. “I know, I’ve changed just a bit.” 

“A Bit?” Bev mocked lightly, adoration in her voice. 

“You seriously still carry that fucking thing around like you're twelve? C’mon dude, its been like 30 years are you sure you even have asthm- Holy shit” 

The group laughed, noting how much Richie hadn't changed before adding Richie and Eddie to their Hug. Lucky 7 together again. It felt for all of them, as though a safety blanket had been wrapped around them once again. Like crawling back into bed when it’s cold outside. 

_They're all here, they're all safe. _Mike thought to himself, instinctively looking at Stan’s forearms. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1989

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw/heads up for this chapter, this is when the homophobia is very blatant, and it probably will be for the rest of this fic now that the exposition is done. It does get happier I swear.

**1989**

Eddie knew how many things burnt. 

The words of his mother. 

The feeling of his aspirator reaching his throat.

the words of Henry Bowers. 

His Hatred for himself. 

The temperature of the water he used to wash his hands after accidentally brushing knuckles with Richie. 

The Thing that burnt the worst was the implication of the word Faggot. To him, it was synonymous with dirty. Unclean. Diseased. Him. Gross. Outcasted. Unnatural. 

“I don't mind them, Eddie-bear, I just wouldn't want you to be- to be….  _ exposed _ to them.” He remembers Sonia saying one morning after church, her tone changing and adjusting with every word. 

“You know,” She started, “God loves all his children, but those people chose willingly to go against him. It’s sick, really.” 

Eddie hardly remembered those words, but he does remember how every part of himself tensed, how his heart practically jumped out of his chest. 

“ _ Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick _ ” the word raced in his head. 

Sonia’s expression softened, then turned to worry.

“Are you feeling sick my love?” She asked

_ Very. yes.  _ He wanted to cry, but rather, he stood up, kissed his mother chastely on the cheek and smiled weakly

“I think I just, uh, got to worked up walking up the church stairs, I'm going to go lay down now.” Eddie’s face burned with anger and shame. 

He wanted to tell his mom that he had a crush on someone, Someone like Beverley marsh. A nice _girl._ a crush on anyone other than who he really had a crush on. It felt like being stabbed through the stomach over and over again. He wanted to scream he wanted to be  _ healthy  _ He wanted to be anything other than who he was right now. 

That night, no matter how many showers he took, Eddie still felt Gross and dirty, not even his red-hot tears felt cleansing enough. 

_ Sick.... Sick... Sick.  _

_ Exposed  _ to _them _as if they weren't people, but rabid dogs. 


	11. Chapter 11

**2017**

The Meeting of the losers club and subsequent dinner passed without incident, and the club passed through the night laughing, talking and carrying on as though they were there for a regular family reunion. 

Mike paid close attention to Stan that night, making sure he was doing ok, not drinking himself to death as he had been known to do in high school, and listening carefully to how stan joked. Bev had taken notice as well, and once the rest of the losers were squared off in their separate rooms in the Inn, Bev and Mike lingered. 

“Mike.” She said, smiling somberly “I know why you've been watching stan. Thank you. I don't know how you know, but thank you.” 

Mike furrowed his brow in confusion, prompting Beverley to speak. “That summer- when it caught me in the lights- I saw us die. All of us. Ever since then, I've seen us all die almost every night. Yesterday, I knew that Stan mig- He might get hurt. And I know Eddie would try to explain them away as nightmares- ones that everyone has, but they're not Mike. They're Premonitions.” 

“B, I believe you,” Mike said, “when have you ever been wrong.” 

Bev smiled weakly before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek “Night Mike,” she called to him as she walked to her room. “Hey, don't stay up all night.”

Mike smiled, “Night Bev.”

If there was one thing Mike didn’t understand about Bev Marsh, it was how her heart was still so soft. That woman had seemed to be haunted by Derry’s evil in the vilest ways, and yet she always had love to spare for those who need it. Mike loved Bev for that. She wasn't comfortable around the boys of the group for a long while, but by the time Highschool had ended, she was ripped in half at the prospect of leaving the only family she had ever known. She even contemplated re-applying for the University of Maine to stay with them, but the group urged her to go to NYU, her dream school. 

“_We’ll always be right here, Bev._” Stan had said, consoling her. 

“_Well… I might leave to take a piss break but then I'll be right back here-_” Richie interjected. 

Bev smiled and sighed _“Beep beep, Richie.” _

Mike knew that No time in the history of the losers’ club was simple, but those days were easy. Where the only Evil there was to face was Henry Bowers or whatever Movie baddie was playing at the Derry Theatre that week. Those were the years they almost felt normal.


End file.
